


voted most likely to run away with you

by aflashofgreen



Series: I like to call myself wound but I will answer to knife [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, F/F, Mild Sexual Content, Mind Games, Minor Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Non-Graphic Violence, Spies & Secret Agents, extremely minor as in his name isn't even mentioned, rich gay girls make out by a body of water in Italy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:55:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26116804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aflashofgreen/pseuds/aflashofgreen
Summary: I won’t make a dull promise.— Nicole Homer, "Underbelly"
Relationships: Sansa Stark/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: I like to call myself wound but I will answer to knife [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896364
Comments: 9
Kudos: 40





	voted most likely to run away with you

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be full chaotic shenanigans, but it turned out just slightly more serious than I ever intended. First time I write from Daenerys’ POV, let me know if I succeeded/failed.
> 
> Suicide mention CW.
> 
> Title from Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince by Taylor Swift.

“Why are you doing this?” asks the man on the floor, crawling away from her not without difficulty due to his wounded leg. A wound inflicted by her.

He caught her by surprise when he managed to grab for a hidden gun, which is how he earned the injury. The flash drive is already in her pocket and she has three minutes before the cameras come back on.

Later, once the job is finished, she sits at a hotel bar, sipping on a dry martini. The seat beside her isn’t vacant for long.

“Anyone ever told you you’re messy?”

Daenerys doesn’t bother turning around to the source of the voice. It’s hardly her fault the guy left blood all over the place trying to make his escape, she thinks as she plays with the cocktail stick, watching the olive swirl around in her drink. Instead, she replies, “Had any luck searching my room?”

“I might have left a mess of my own behind.”

That makes her smile. She finally relents and looks at Sansa. They both know Daenerys didn’t have any reason to linger behind. Varys is waiting for her to deliver the flash drive, a possession Sansa is after too. It’s why Daenerys won’t stay long enough to have it stolen from her. She can easily picture how it’d go if she did, seeing herself against a wall or her back digging into a counter, a table, any flat surface really, skilled fingers over her body, peeling clothes off of her and picking her pockets just as expertly.

“I dressed up for you.” Dany changed three times before settling on a satin suit. The material feels as soft as Sansa’s skin against hers. She gets up to allow her a better look. _Miss me_ , she wants to tell her.

“I noticed,” Sansa says, though her eyes stay on Daenerys’ face.

There’s always a next time.

* * *

There was a different job once, a different target, many others really. This one was notable because it was the first time Daenerys watched as her target suddenly reached for his chest, fist closing over his heart, and collapsed to the floor. Poison. It happened twice more before Daenerys identified the culprit, and one more time before she came face to face with Alayne — with _Sansa_.

She should have killed her then perhaps, but that wasn’t the assignment.

* * *

Daenerys has always been a sore loser, so it becomes a contest between them, whenever their paths cross, who will shove the other over a railing or a window or down the stairs, who will lock the other on the wrong side of a door, who will knock the other out first.

In Rotterdam, Daenerys breaks into a container, then pushes Alayne out of the way and in the water when she makes her exit from the port. She walks out of a deserted building just outside Manchester City where she’d been observing a transaction taking place, only to discover her tires have been slashed and knows who to blame for leaving her stranded.

The location varies, Dany has the upper hand and then she doesn’t, and so it goes. Her job is hardly boring and neither is Alayne, she learns.

* * *

She learns other things too, such as: Alayne loves a costume. She has a sweet tooth and favors anything lemon-flavored. She’s a talented chemist with a mean hook and a clever tongue. Daenerys likes it best when that tongue is on her.

There’s always an assignment and there’s always Alayne. There is no assignment to fuck Alayne, but she does that too. Call it her initiative.

Daenerys was never the kind to deny herself.

* * *

Tywin Lannister is dead, brought earlier to the grave with help from his youngest son who is now feeding information to the Spider. Daenerys doesn’t much care for what the man has to say, only for what it means she’ll have to do. Varys is always happy to tell her.

In the aftermath of its CEO’s untimely passing, Baratheon Enterprises sinks in the stock market and the Boltons are desperate to break rank. Alayne has a field day with them and Varys is less happy then.

* * *

No work talk. It’s not so much a rule as a it is a simple understanding that talking about work would be equivalent to talking about the weather: very boring.

It’s not like Daenerys has any idea what orders Alayne is given by Littlefinger, but he and Varys are old acquaintances and the Spider agrees recent events are out of the ordinary. She’d like to ask Alayne _is something happening, what is it, are you okay_ , but instead she walks her back towards the bed, the fall briefly breaking their kiss. Alayne parts her legs open and Daenerys is already putting her mouth back on her, lower this time, lower still, and there are only one-word pleas from the woman beneath her now.

This is the most she’ll ever get her to reveal, Dany thinks, the closest she’ll ever come to knowing her. In their line of work, mystery isn’t meant for allure, it simply comes with the job. Alayne, she doesn’t have a face — she has a mask and it’s well secured. Daenerys swallowed her heart a long time ago, or so she’d thought. If Alayne asked anything now, she would tell her more than is wise.

But Alayne never asks.

In the morning, Dany wakes up alone, scratches down her back, the other woman’s perfume lingering on the pillows.

She still gets to the target first, but it’s a close call. 

* * *

That’s the thing, for all of the kicks, the ruses, the kisses, the touches — they rarely talk. They speak, but it’s Varys who tells Dany Alayne was once Sansa, once had a father, a mother, an older brother. Ostensibly, the former committed suicide and the other two’s deaths were attributed to a car crash.

Sansa still puts a bullet through Joffrey Baratheon and Cersei Lannister for good measure, though that came years later. Daenerys watches from her spot on the roof of the building across from where they live. She was listening in on them, as per the instructions she was given, watching them through the big glass windows of their penthouse. Then Sansa came into view, gun in hand, unexpected. They offered her money, even tried their hand at pleading.

“Get acquainted. You’re going to continue crossing paths until this business with the Lannisters is dealt with,” is what Varys told Dany months ago. But Daenerys learns more about Sansa from the scene that just took place than anything that was written in the file Varys had brought with him.

She lets out a snort.

_Dealt with._

* * *

There’s a text afterwards.

_Enjoyed the show?_

_I enjoy you_

* * *

The next time they meet, they’re in a mansion on the Amalfi coast. Daenerys broke in twenty minutes ago, already hid the mics she came to install. She is on the balcony looking at the sunset when Sansa joins her with two drinks. The bar is downstairs and Sansa was purposely loud so that even without the mics, Dany would have heard her and could have left.

The view is really scenic here, the warmth and the sea reminding Daenerys of her childhood. Sansa’s offering sits between them, completing the idyllic picture.

“What did you put in it?”

“Drink and find out,” Sansa smirks, sipping from her own glass.

There’s nothing, which is the real surprise. Her tongue only taste the sweetness of the limoncello Sansa mixed in, all the stronger when the redhead leans into Dany to kiss her.

* * *

“Will you call me Sansa now?”

“Shouldn’t I call you by your name? You know mine, it only seems fair that I know yours.”

“Oh, are we going to start playing fair?” She lifts an eyebrow at Daenerys for drama.

“Do you know you never give a direct answer to any questions?”

“We both prefer when you work for it.”

* * *

When news reach them, Varys can’t help but look impressed. No one will mourn Littlefinger, that’s for sure, but what comes as a surprise is that his protégée was behind his demise. Daenerys simply has the same thought she had all those months ago, when Sansa shot down the Lannister matriarch and her son.

That night, Sansa comes to her, looking for understanding of all things.

“Boy trouble?” Dany guesses, sitting on her couch with Sansa’s head on her lap, gently stroking her hair.

“Family drama.”

“Baby,” she coos, “those are the same thing for you.”

* * *

The following week:

“My condolences.”

There was a fire in one of Littlefinger’s properties. Several bodies were found. According to Varys’ intel, one of them is Sansa’s.

“Any word on who’s responsible?”

“I thought you might know,” he tells her, holding her gaze.

Daenerys bursts into a laugh. “You think I did this?”

“Fire and blood is your way.” Varys gives her the chance to reply before adding, his tone conciliatory, “She was a distraction. It’s better this way. I’m not mad.”

“Why would you be,” she says with a smile, “since I didn’t do anything.” Daenerys is less concerned with convincing him of her innocence than she is with confirming his doubts. There’s a reason her name was thrown in the pool of suspects. Nothing holds her back now.

* * *

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

Nothing in her demeanor indicates Sansa is surprised to see her. She barely spares a glance Dany’s way before she replies, “Aren’t _you_? Here I was grieving.”

Daenerys looks her up carefully. There’s a bandage around her left bicep, a more discreet band-aid further down, over the pit of her elbow. She still manages to look perfectly put together sat on this terrace, Dany thinks as she slips into the chair next to her.

“Is that why you’re here?”

“I came to reminisce,” she sighs. “We met over there.” Sansa says it like she’s recounting a tale, the sort that begins with _once upon a time_. “You chased me outside under the rain,” she continues.

Put like that, it even sounds romantic, like Dany was Prince Charming running after Cinderella. Sansa’s eyes drift to the fancy hotel across the street, taking it in like she’s reliving the scene, but Daenerys only looks at her. There have been many hotels.

“I saw you before that, you know. At that Christmas party held by Baratheon Enterprises,” Dany remembers. “I only recognized you for who you were afterwards, once you had your fun, but that’s the first time I saw you.”

“I have more fun with you.” Sansa says it like a confession, makes it sound like there’s a double meaning that Daenerys isn't already aware of, inviting her to play along.

So Dany does.

“I heard you’re going rogue.”

“Varys want to recruit me?” Her tone is cheerful, like the idea delights her.

“Littlefinger’s been a pain in his ass for years,” Daenerys shrugs, holding her gaze. “You’ve done him a favor.”

“Him,” Sansa repeats, leaning into her now. “Not _us_?”

“I’m dead too,” Daenerys reminds her, a grin on her face.

Sansa returns the smile.


End file.
